Thank you to Mel and Pamela!

XXXI

ROSALIE

December 20, 1897

St. Petersburg, Russia

The Winter Palace is truly a sight to behold as our carriage arrives in the grand courtyard. Mother has her face pressed to the window, her eyes greedily taking in every detail.

Not that I am any different. I've never seen such a sight as this.

The palace is undeniably grand, with candles lighting every window as far as I can see. Above us, the sky is dark though the hour is not so late yet, but I must admit, our arrival is all the more splendid for the early night.

Mother has berated me nearly the entire journey from the Alexander Palace for my slouching shoulders and lack of etiquette, even though I know my etiquette and posture are near flawless.

Sometimes, I wonder if Mother lashes out at me simply as a way to distract from her own worries.

Several days before our departure, Alix brought in some of the finest tailors in Russia, and Mother ordered a gown for me for the ball. Tonight, I have been prepared to resemble the latest Russian style, from the way my hair has been expertly pinned down to my new leather shoes. The czarina even offered me an imperial cornette to wear for the occasion.

I have never felt so close to royalty.

"Rosalie," Mother hisses, and I turn from the window to see her glaring at me. "Are you listening to me?"

I sigh and nod. "Yes, Mother."

"The sooner you find a husband in this god forsaken country, the sooner we can leave," she snarls through clenched teeth.

"Do you think we can?" I ask, looking her over. When she glances at me, I clarify. "Leave, I mean." I am starting to wonder if my future might include me being stuck in Russia for the rest of my life.

It is a thought I dread.

Mother lets out a breath. "It's too hot in here," she complains, not answering me. It is not hot, but Mother produces her fan anyway, waving it in front of her face.

"Mother, are you well? You look as if you will be ill."

"If I am ill, Rosalie," Mother snarls, snapping her fan shut, "it will be because you have vexed me into an early grave."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead turn my attention outside the carriage again.

Not for the first time, I wonder where Liam has disappeared to. I have not seen him since leaving the grafyina's home, and every time I've asked after him, I have been ignored or shunted aside. I pray that nothing has happened to him.

"Look lively," Mother commands, her straight back lengthening more as she sits up. "And whatever you do, do not make a fool of me."

I nod solemnly as the carriage pulls to a stop. "Yes, Mother."

LIAM

It has been several weeks since Elizabeth sent me on my errand. Though I had intended to stay with Rosalie to look after her, Elizabeth had cornered me at the grafyina's house with new orders for me.

"Liam," she said, her face sallow with sickness from the pregnancy. "I need you to find somewhere for me to go. Somewhere over the winter so that I might hide this pregnancy from everyone."

I opened my mouth, confused. "Where—"

"I don't care where," she snapped. "Find me somewhere safe, then find someone to take the babe." She sniffed. "Do this, and you are officially released from any debts you have to my family."

It is too good an opportunity for me to pass up. It has taken me several weeks, but I have finally found a suitable place for Elizabeth to disappear from Russian court life. I know it is her intention to match Rosalie as quickly as possible so that she can leave and carry out her pregnancy in peace and solitude.

Though it pains me to think of Rosalie being married off so callously, realistically I have always known this was coming.

This is her role to play in life, as I have my own.

I arrive back in St. Petersburg after my journey to the remote villages east shortly after the ball in the Winter Palace has begun. I don't have an invitation, but I don't feel worried about my prospects of gaining entry.

Everyone has a price, and my specialty is identifying that price in any stranger I meet.

Sure enough, I am pleased to see that several of the guards near the staff doors are familiar to me. At least two of them were on the ship that brought us to Russia all those weeks ago.

Charm is hardly needed as I bribe the men with tobacco and vodka, promising them rematches at poker the next time I see them.

With a few chuckles between us, I am slipping inside the Winter Palace.

Easy.

The palace is ostentatious, every surface shining under the multitude of candles, glinting gold in the dancing flames.

There is music coming from somewhere, and following a constant stream of servants with trays of champagne, it doesn't take me long to find the ballroom. I've never seen such a sight. It puts everything in the Cullen manor to shame.

I bet Rosalie hates it, I think. And I'm sure Elizabeth loves it.

I stick to the edges of the room, taking in the beautiful women in flowing gowns twirling on the dance floor. They look like flowers in the bleak Russian winter landscape.

I'm wondering how I'll ever find Elizabeth or Rosalie when a hand lands on my shoulder, twisting me away from the dancers.

ROSALIE

The ball is grander than anything I've ever attended. I am humbled by the sheer size of the ballroom and overwhelmed by the crowd of gentlemen that have been paraded in front of me. Most of them don't speak any English, and since Mr. McCarty is not around, I have no one to help me with the language barrier.

It is my obligation to dance with as many men as I can, even though I detest the very idea of it.

It feels like hours before I am finally permitted a break. Someone offers me a glass of wine, and I gulp it down greedily, even though Mother would be horrified at my manners. I am so thirsty, I cannot help it.

Of course, the drink does not slake my thirst, and soon, I am hunting for another glass when a body steps in front of me.

"You must dance vif me," Aleksandr Volkov says, his face a lecherous sneer.

I bite the inside of my cheek and dip into a shaky curtsy. "Certainly," I say, trying to be gracious.

Before I can try to fend him off for another song, he grabs me by the waist, making me squeak in surprise. He drags me to the dance floor, his body so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin.

"You English Rose," he says, his voice a growl that makes my flesh crawl. "Let me see you dance."

I am confused for a moment as he releases me, but then I quickly pull my wits back together and curtsy to him again before trying to fall in step with the dance. I do not know this one, but I am a fast learner … usually.

"You dance vif many men," Duke Volkov says, his voice hard.

"I have been afforded the privilege—" I begin.

"Your vords bore me," he snaps. "You dance vif me now."

A slick, hollow feeling fills my stomach. I do not like this. I do not like this at all.

The dance is spirited and takes a great deal of my concentration to learn from the people around me. I am so focused in fact that I do not see the duke move until I feel his hand graze my breasts.

I freeze in my spot, my eyes going wide. He steps back, making it seem part of the dance, and gives me a wolfish smile.

I need to get out of here, but how can I without making a spectacle?

I feel my eyes roaming the ballroom, looking for my opportunity.

"English Rose," the duke says, demanding my attention back on him. He takes my hand under the guise of the dance and yanks me too close to his body. I can smell the vodka on his breath. "You are very beautiful."

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my anxiousness growing more and more. "Thank you," I say, trying to pull myself from his grasp.

"You are like summer berry," he says, lifting a hand to stroke my cheek.

"Please, Your Grace. This is improper." I yank to free myself.

"I vish to take a bite." He chomps his teeth at me, and I flinch, making him laugh as he lets go of my hand.

I step back from him, shaking. "Thank you for the dance, Your Grace. I must excuse myself." I do not wait to hear his response as I run off the dance floor, my heart in my throat.

I have to find a way to get out of here.

LIAM

Elizabeth yanks me into the shadows of a hallway, just off the ballroom. She is silent until we are both certain we are alone. "What are you doing here?" she hisses, whirling on me.

"I've done what you asked," I tell her.

Her eyes go wide and she glances around us. "Not here."

She leaves the hallway, and I dutifully follow her at a respectable distance. To anyone who might come across us, I am nothing more than one of her servants, submissive and unimportant.

Elizabeth finds an unoccupied room and slips in, ushering me after her. As soon as I'm through the door, I turn to her.

"Well?"

I sigh and pull a slip of parchment from my pocket. "There is a village east of here. The nuns will take you in and assume responsibility of rearing the child once you deliver."

Elizabeth reaches for the paper and nods. "Good." Her gaze lifts toward me. "And yourself?"

"What of me?"

"What do you plan on doing now?" she clarifies.

I let out a breath. I have half a mind to go to India and track down Edward. I miss my best friend fiercely, though I know that I don't have a place in his new married life. I am certain his wife is taking care of him far better than I ever could.

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "Perhaps I'll travel to America." It's a passing thought, one I don't consider too heavily.

I never once stop to consider raising the babe on my own. I am no parental figure, and any life I could give to Elizabeth's baby would be far worse than the future ahead of it now.

Elizabeth lets out a breath that makes her chest heave. Already, I can see signs of her body changing. Her bosom is larger, and her cheeks are more flushed than usual. She will not be able to hide this pregnancy much longer.

"Thank you, Liam," she says softly.

I meet her gaze. I have grown a sort of obligatory awareness of my mistress. I dare not say that I love her, but her well-being is important to me, if for no other reason than she is the mother of my best friend.

Though, how I can still call him that when I have betrayed his trust by making an adultress of his mother, I'm not sure I will ever be able to sort out.

"You should leave," she says, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders. "Run now, while you can."

There is wisdom in her words, wisdom I certainly intend to abide by.

Still, there is one more thing that I must do before I leave the Cullen family forever.

I bow to Elizabeth, my heart lodging in my throat as I take in the reality of my situation. I will finally be free of this woman. I will finally live under my own power.

It is a heady thought.

"Thank you, my lady," I say, trying to sort through the various thoughts and feelings bubbling up in me.

"Thank you for your service to my family, Mr. Masen," she says coolly.

I straighten up, and without another glance at her, I slip out of the room.

I am free.

ROSALIE

My head is spinning, my breaths coming out shallow as I push my way through the crowd. I imagine I can see Volkov behind me at every turn, but surely he wouldn't follow me so daringly, would he?

I double back, just in case, intent on losing him.

I can feel the fear pounding my heart into a nervous rhythm as I desperately search the crowd for a familiar face. Anyone who will help me slip away.

But I am in a strange and foreign sea of unknown faces, and no one here would risk offending one of their own dukes to help some English girl.

Mother, I must find Mother. She will put a stop to this.

I press forward, impolitely shoving my way through groups and causing a ruckus in my wake. I don't care how rude I'm appearing; I just want to leave.

A woman steps in front of me, and a moment too late, I twist out of her path, colliding with a tall man. Large hands land on my shoulders, steadying me, and in my panic-heightened state, I fear it is Volkov coming to take a bite of me after all.

"My lady?"

I stop struggling out of the grasp and blink up at Mr. McCarty. He is gazing at me wide-eyed, his concern evident.

"Please," I gasp. "Take me away from here."

Without another word, he lifts my arm, gently folding it into the crook of his elbow as he escorts me out of the ballroom.

The court yards are bracing as we step outside. I shiver and immediately wish I had the fur stole I'd been wrapped in earlier in the evening.

"Hold on, my lady," Mr. McCarty urges, guiding me through an arch and into a small yard. The wind is mostly blocked here, and though it is not warm, it is much less frigid.

The moment we are settled, Mr. McCarty lets go of my hand and turns to look at me.

"Are you well?" he asks, ushering me to sit on a low bench. I drop indelicately and shiver. Mr. McCarty immediately sheds his coat and draps it over my shoulders.

"I'm sorry I've made such a spectacle," I say, my voice on the edge of hysteria. "I didn't know what else to do."

Mr. McCarty starts to sit next to me when we hear the unmistakable sounds of boots scraping on the ground. He immediately stands, and I find myself cowering behind his large body.

Duke Volkov steps into the courtyard, looking every square inch the predator.

"Vell," he says, his voice mocking. "Vat have ve here?"

Mr. McCarty's back straightens, and he speaks slowly and calmly to Volkov in Russian. I watch as Volkov's face sneers and he spits a response back.

I shrink even further.

Mr. McCarty and Volkov hurl words back and forth before I see Mr. McCarty flinch, his eyes casting toward me anxiously.

"What is it?" I ask, fear settling in my stomach.

"His Grace demands that you leave with him at once," Mr. McCarty says, his tone pained. "Or he is threatening to tell everyone that I have soiled your virtue."

I gasp. "But that is simply not true!"

It is a horrible lie, but as Volkov has already pointed out to me, he does not seem to operate within the same moral standards as good Christians ought to.

There is no telling what this monster is capable of.

Still, despite the threat, I cannot physically will my body to go with him.

"Please," I beg . "Please, there must be another way."

He opens his mouth, looking helpless. Volkov steps toward us, instinctively forcing me to my feet fully behind .

"Come, now, English Rose," he sneers. "I am not patient."

Despite the threat in his voice, I do not move. Then, almost too quick for me to understand what is going on, Volkov is lunging at us. I let out a shriek and Mr. McCarty steps forward, blocking Volkov's attack. I can hear my name being called, and suddenly my mother is there with Liam.

Liam!

Before I can exclaim my relief, Volkov lands a blow to , sending him shuffling backwards. He nearly knocks into me as he falls to the ground.

Mother rushes forward, her face furious.

"You will not lay hands upon my daughter, Volkov!" she shouts, her voice angrier than I've ever heard.

Volkov spits something in Russian, and then before I can even draw in a breath, he is shoving Mother to the side. Mother tumbles to the ground, and the sound of a dull wet thud makes my blood run cold.

Volkov is spitting mad, and he takes a step toward me, but before I can scream, Liam tackles the man, grappling with him until Volkov's neck is in a vise grip of Liam's arms.

It is horrifying, watching Volkov's face go from red to purple, his nails digging into Liam's arms. Liam does not flinch, and instead, holds Volkov even more firmly until I see the man's eyes bug. He makes a horrible choked sound before his body slumps. Liam takes Volkov's head into his hands, and with a swift and brutal twist, snaps the man's neck, leaving him dead on the courtyard grounds.

I have never seen such violence.

Liam is gazing down at Volkov with a detached look in his eyes, and a terrible thought occurs to me. He's done this before.

Liam shakes himself out of his reverie and turns his attention to Mother. He stoops by her side, his eyes going wide and panicked when he reveals the blood oozing from her head.

"My lady," Liam says, gently shaking Mother's shoulders. She does not respond and he shakes harder.

I can tell by the way Mother's head rolls on her neck that there is no life left in her.

I drop to my knees, numb with shock and grief.

"Rosalie?"

I feel Mr. McCarty crawl to my side and rewrap his coat over my shoulders. I don't know when it fell from me.

"Mother?" I know she is gone, but I cannot help trying to call out to her, one last time.

Liam's eyes lift to meet my gaze, and I can see genuine sorrow on his face.

"Liam," Mr. McCarty chokes out. "You must leave at once."

Liam shakes his head. "I can't leave …" He gazes at me before his eyes drop to Mother. Is he speaking about me or her?

"You have killed the duke," Mr. McCarty reminds him. "You must flee, now."

Liam looks me over, though I can hardly see him through my tears.

I think I see something in his eyes, some words he cannot quite formulate, but before I can figure it out, he turns to Mr. McCarty. "Take care of her."

The order ricochets through my mind, ringing like a distant bell.

I feel Mr. McCarty nod, and then gently, Liam is lowering Mother to the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks. He takes one last look at me before running from the courtyard.

"Rosalie," says tenderly. "We need to get you inside. You'll freeze to death out here."

"I can't leave her," I choke out.

"I know," he says softly. "I'm going to take care of it."

Uncertainly, I allow him to lift me onto my feet, and then he is guiding me past the corpses in the courtyard.

The moment we are inside, I feel like my skin is burning.

Mr. McCarty guides me toward a parlor, tucking me into a chair by a fire. He crouches down, his eyes meeting mine as he gently takes my hand in his. "Rosalie?"

I blink, focusing on him.

"I'm going to take care of everything," he says softly. "Please stay here."

I nod, my mouth dry. "Thank you, Emmett."

I have never been so personal with him before, and for a moment, I see a smile in the corner of his mouth before he gently lays my hand back in my lap and leaves the room.

It's not even five seconds after he's left that I double over, bawling.

How could this have happened?

LIAM

I cannot shake the phantom feeling of blood from my hands.

Despite the fact that I have checked multiple times for any remnants and found none, I know the feeling of death in my palms will not fade for some time … if it ever does.

If there is one thing in this life that comes naturally to me, it's survival.

I head along the river, away from the Winter Palace and toward the docks. I've got enough cash on me to maybe barter for passage, but I don't know where I could go. Do I dare head back to England? Should I try to track down Edward?

My instincts tell me to keep clear of the Cullen family.

With sickening accuracy, my mind replays the moment Elizabeth's skull cracked open, and for a terrible breath, I think I might be ill.

My complicated relationship with her aside, Elizabeth was the mother of my best friend, the woman who had clothed and sheltered me for years now. Despite what she'd demanded in return as payment, she had always shown me kindness.

I am not ready to think of her as gone.

A carriage races by on the road beyond the riverbanks and I slink into the shadows, just in case.

Once the carriage is gone, I press on, weaving my way through the frozen streets of the city.

Three blocks from the docks, I become aware of someone following me. I could curse myself for growing distracted enough to not have noticed sooner. Usually, my vigilance is unparalleled, but tonight I cannot seem to keep my mind present.

I don't turn to see who it is, though I do make a point to take a circuitous route. When I find my follower still in pursuit, I draw up a quick plan.

Slipping down an alley, I pick up my pace, whipping around a corner and pulling myself into the shadows of a doorway. I can feel my pursuer's footsteps hasten, and then a form is turning the corner, illuminated dimly by gas lamps dotted around the street.

I am surprised to find it is a woman following me.

"Who are you, lady?" I ask, stepping out of the shadows.

The woman gives a sharp gasp, one hand flying over her chest. "Merde," she wheezes. "You frightened me." Her voice has a light French accent, and I take in her shadowed features, trying to place her.

"Why are you following me?"

She straightens her back, her shoulders squaring as she tilts her face up in my direction. "Are you Liam Masen?"

I blink in surprise. "It depends on who is asking," I tell her.

I can see her roll her eyes. "Oui, I was warned about you and your silver tongue," she says. I open my mouth, and despite all the horrible things that have happened to me tonight, I feel the impulse to flirt with this woman. "Hush," she scolds me. "Not a word."

I think I can hear a smile in her voice and it tugs out a responding grin from me.

"Come," the woman says, reaching out and grabbing my arm in a surprisingly strong grasp. "We have much to discuss."

She tugs me back into the street, keeping her fingers firmly wrapped around my arm.

"Where are we going?" I ask, curious. If she is the consequences of my actions tonight, then I shall face whatever penalties I must quite willingly. There is something familiarly charming about this tiny but mighty woman.

She pushes her dark hair out of her eyes as she looks up at me. "Minsk."

I feel my eyebrows lift. "Minsk?" I repeat, curious.

"Oui," she says with a nod. "We have a war to stop."

ROSALIE

I have been numb for the better part of two hours now.

The czarina has finally dismissed me and sent me to bed in rooms of the Winter Palace, but I cannot sleep. My mother has been murdered and I am horrifyingly alone.

I do not know what is going on downstairs, nor do I find that I care anymore. Let them discover what truly came to pass; perhaps they will be able to make better sense of it all than I can.

There is a knock at my doors, and I look up from where I have been gazing into the fire. I clear my throat before calling out, "Enter."

The door opens, and I am not surprised to find the czarina coming into the rooms. Her eyes sweep the untouched bed before she looks at me, huddled in front of the fire in my dressing gown.

"I've come to see how you are faring," she says softly.

I nod. "I've been better," I tell her dryly.

She nods and comes to take a seat beside me in the second chair. I am surprised to note she too is dressed down, though her robe looks to be made of actual silk while mine is linen and far too thin for a climate such as Russia.

"A ship is set to depart in the morning to bring your mother's body back to England," she tells me gently. "I understand if you wish to go with her."

I blink at her stupidly. Is that what I'm supposed to do? Is my work here finished now that Mother and a duke are dead?

"If you would like to stay," Alix continues, her eyes roaming my face, trying to gauge my reactions. "I believe I have found a suitable match for you. You can marry him as soon as tomorrow morning if you like."

My mouth pops open. "Tomorrow?" I croak. "Who would want to marry me so quickly?"

Alix shifts in her seat. "His name is Royce Brandenburg," she tells me.

"Is he Russian?" I ask, doubtful.

Alix shakes her head. "No. He is my cousin, the prince of Brandenburg."

I'm not sure I even know where that is.

My head is spinning, and I shake it, trying to clear my thoughts. "I don't know what to say," I tell Alix finally.

She nods once, understanding. "My cousin detests the winters in Russia," she continues, as if I have asked about him. "And since the unification of the German Empire, he has been mostly too busy to leave his home," she continues. "But he is in need of a wife, one who will both provide strong political ties as well as social." She looks me over pointedly. "I've agreed to train you in the social and political landscape should you accept his proposal."

"Would I live here, then?" I ask, unsure.

"If you like," Alix agrees. "Though we do prefer to be in the Alexander Palace."

I nod slowly. Olga and Tatiana, Alix's two children, didn't come with us to the Winter Palace, but instead stayed behind with their governesses, away from the public eye. I can understand the allure of a place as quiet and peaceful as the Alexander Palace.

"What are my options?" I ask.

Alix lets out a breath. "You may refuse, of course," she says, her lips pursing and telling me this is not her ideal situation. "In which case, a Russian courtier has asked about your hand." She shakes her head. "He is sixty-two years old and his last four wives have all died of rather unexplained injuries to their heads or throats."

I blanch, quickly shaking my head. "No," I gasp, horrified by the implications.

Alix nods. "I'm afraid after what has transpired tonight, these will be the only two offers you will receive here."

I swallow hard. Can I marry a stranger I've never met? Sign over my life to him in the hopes that it will please my father and somehow make this terrible night better?

I am woozy over my ruminations.

"May I think on it?"

Alix nods. "Certainly. You have until dawn," she says softly.

She stands from the chair and turns to look at me. "If I may," she says softly. I look up to meet her gaze. "Marry Royce, stay in Russia, and learn what you can. It may not be the life you pictured for yourself, but so long as you are in my country, I will do what I can to help you."

I nod solemnly. "Thank you, Alix."

She gives me one last look before leaving me to my thoughts.

I turn the possibilities over in my mind all night, not daring to sleep a wink. There is too much at stake to dream the time away.

At dawn, there is a knock on my door, and this time I stand, crossing the room and securing my robe tighter around me before I reach for the knob. The metal is cold in my palm and makes me shiver as I yank open the door.

Alix is there, dressed in a sky-blue gown, her face surprisingly anxious. "Well?" she asks in greeting.

I let out a breath. "Very well," I tell her. "I accept the terms of your cousin's proposal."

Alix looks relieved, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly. "Good," she says. "Good. I will send maids at once. You'll be made ready immediately. The ceremony will take place at noon."

I swallow hard and nod, praying to God that I have made the right choice.